


A Lesson in Sleep

by cuddles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Hands, Lack of Communication, M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, Sleep, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddles/pseuds/cuddles
Summary: "I haven't tried sleeping in fifty or sixty years, and you seem to like it awfully, and I've been wondering if I ought to give it another go." Aziraphale's hands clasped together and he bit his lip. "That is to say -- do you think I could join you?"Crowley's brain went staticky. "Ngh," he said, and then quickly, "Sure. Knock yourself out."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	A Lesson in Sleep

It had been a wonderful evening, thought Crowley -- a leisurely dinner, sparkling conversation, excellent seats at the theatre, and finally a nightcap at Crowley's flat. The only thing that could make it better was a good night's sleep.

"Well, I'm going to turn in," he said, and seeing Aziraphale's face fall, instantly added, "You can stay here if you like." Crowley's eyelids were drooping, but he couldn't bear to disappoint the angel. "Got Netflix and Disney Plus. Top-of-the-line espresso maker. Couple more bottles of shiraz in the cupboard, help yourself. And we could, uh, go for breakfast tomorrow."

Aziraphale looked pleased. "Thank you, Crowley, that would be lovely." He fiddled with his watch chain, appeared to hesitate, then said, "Good night, my dear fellow. I hope you have pleasant dreams."

The way Aziraphale was smiling at him, Crowley thought, his dreams would probably be very pleasant indeed. "Night, angel."

Crowley took a shower and changed into his pyjama pants, leaving the top off because he was feeling warm. Then he slithered between his satin sheets. He was just mulling over his usual list of anxieties, which his brain insisted on running through before he could fall asleep, when there came a timid tap on the door.

"You need anything?" he called.

The door opened and Aziraphale's head poked in. Crowley snapped his fingers to switch on the light.

"Ah, hello again, Crowley, I ... I was merely wondering ..."

Crowley propped himself up on his elbow, conscious of his bare chest being only half hidden by the duvet, and of his lack of sunglasses. "If you're having trouble with the Netflix controls --"

"Oh, no, not at all, it's just ... Well, I haven't tried sleeping in fifty or sixty years, and you seem to like it awfully, and I've been wondering if I ought to give it another go." Aziraphale's hands clasped together and he bit his lip. "That is to say -- do you think I could join you?"

Crowley's brain went staticky. "Ngh," he said, and then quickly, "Sure. Knock yourself out."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale beamed, shutting the door behind him. "Well, let me see if I can come up with something suitable." He waved a hand and was promptly clad in a set of pyjamas in his usual tartan. He gave Crowley a shy sideways glance that made Crowley's stomach flutter, then approached.

Crowley scooted backwards a bit to be polite, yielding the right side of the bed. His heart was beating harder than it ought to under such innocent circumstances. Yes, they were going to share a bed. No, it didn't mean anything. They had shared beds a few times before (Crowley refused to admit even to himself that he could recall every single incident), when an inn was full or when one of them was too drunk to find his own room. It was fine.

Aziraphale gave Crowley another of those shy glances and slipped into the bed. He lay flat on his back and smoothed the duvet down his sides with both hands. "Is this the standard position? Supine?"

"Lotta people do that one," Crowley told him. "Personally, I like to sleep on my side."

Aziraphale rolled onto his side to face him. Their positions mirrored each other. "Like this?"

"Exactly." Crowley suppressed a grin. "Now, face down, that's an advanced move, you should probably leave that one to the pros."

"I see."

Crowley had been sleepy a minute ago, but with Aziraphale's eyes resting on him he felt wide awake. He switched the light off again. "G'night."

"Good night," said Aziraphale. Crowley shut his eyes firmly against the sight of Aziraphale's face limned by moonlight. Mind over matter. He just had to sleep.

Beside him, he felt Aziraphale shift around a bit, presumably trying to get comfortable. When he opened his eyes, he found the angel had inched closer to him, hand resting on the duvet right next to Crowley's. He was looking at Crowley with a peculiar expression, somewhere between hopeful and guilty.

"Crowley?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think --" Aziraphale paused. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, which even in the dim light were very pink. "I don't suppose we're likely to hear from Heaven ever again, or Hell either." It was not a question, but it sounded like one anyway.

Crowley wondered what had brought this on. Since swapping back their bodies, they'd barely discussed the trick they'd played on Heaven and Hell. The only sign of it was the new lightness in Aziraphale's voice, the spring in his step, the ever more frequent twinkle in his eye. Aziraphale hadn't _liked_ Heaven. Losing it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"I don't think so," Crowley answered. "I think we gave them a scare."

Aziraphale's smile practically glowed in the dark. "It's strange, isn't it -- to be -- well, to be free."

"Free," Crowley echoed. "Yeah."

Aziraphale's hand lifted from the duvet, hovered over Crowley's for the briefest of instants, then dropped again. Crowley stared at their fingers, now a centimetre apart. Close enough to pinkie swear, like Warlock and his friends had used to do.

He forced his eyes away. He wasn't sure if Aziraphale could see in the dim light as well as he could, but mooning over their almost-joined hands was not something he wanted to be caught at.

"Really, we could do whatever we like, now." Aziraphale's voice was soft, with a quaver of nervousness in it. Crowley wondered what Aziraphale had to be nervous about. Maybe he was still overwhelmed with the idea of freedom. That might be it.

"Like what?" Crowley asked. "We already do whatever we like, don't we?" Aziraphale's face fell and Crowley cursed himself for upsetting the angel, though he wasn't sure how he'd done it. He backpedalled. "I mean, yeah, we could -- we could go on holiday. Retire and live by the seaside. Anything."

Now Aziraphale was giving him a hopeful, puppy-eyed look that meant he wanted something he wasn't willing to ask for out loud. Crowley melted.*

"Anything?" Aziraphale murmured, still giving him That Look.

"Sure." Crowley was encouraged. "Get a cottage in the South Downs. Take up ... I don't know ... knitting." He waited for the bashful smile that was his usual reward for giving Aziraphale what he wanted, but it did not arrive. Instead Aziraphale looked disappointed, his eyes flickering over Crowley's face as though searching for something. Crowley felt a pang in his heart.

Aziraphale's gaze lingered somewhere south of Crowley's nose before darting away. He closed his eyes with a sigh. "The South Downs does sound nice," he said neutrally.

"Mm." Crowley studied his face in the moonlight. Aziraphale looked softer and more ethereal now than by day. He felt the lightest brush of Aziraphale's little finger against his, electric, and glanced down. They were touching now. Just barely.

"Well." Aziraphale opened his eyes again and gave Crowley a smile. Not his best smile, but a genuine one. "I suppose I'd better stop nattering and get down to it. Good night, my dear."

 _My dear_. That was new. Crowley wondered when Aziraphale had decided to drop the word "fellow" or "boy" from the end of the expression.

"Good night," he replied. He shut his eyes firmly. Time to sleep. Never mind that his mind was racing. Never mind that their fingers were still touching. He could think about it in the morning. Sleep, sleep, sleep. He listened to Aziraphale's breathing, in and out, soft as distant waves.

Soon the angel's breathing slowed and steadied, and Crowley peeked at him through his eyelashes. Aziraphale's lips were parted in slumber, the lines of his face softened and smoothed. Crowley felt another pang in his heart.

He looked down at their hands on the duvet. Moving as slowly as he could, he edged his little finger over until it lay across Aziraphale's. Almost a pinkie swear. He checked to make sure Aziraphale hadn't woken. He took a deep, quiet breath. Now he really was going to sleep, he told himself.

Crowley dreamt of angel hands that night.

  
  
  


*Predictably.


End file.
